


Watching Sherlock

by Maya_Di_Angelo



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Developing Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade, F/M, Gen, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Feels, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock is a Mess, sort of crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22507291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maya_Di_Angelo/pseuds/Maya_Di_Angelo
Summary: The characters of Sherlock are kid- Ahem. I mean carefully taken to watch the series.Cheers!
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25
Collections: All things Sherlock, Sherlock





	Watching Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> This is written purely for the fun of it. 
> 
> Suggestions are acceptable. Even, encouraged.

Prologue

“This phone call – it’s, er ... it’s my note. It is what people do, don’t they – leave a note?”

John shakes his head, momentarily taking his phone from his ear as the stress of what he’s beginning to understand hits him, then he raises it again, his voice shaky.

“Leave a note when?”  
  


“Goodbye, John.”  
  


John shakes his head, eyes widened filled with desperation and disbelief.

“No. Don’t.” 

  
Sherlock gazes down at his friend for several seconds, then he lowers his arm and drops the phone onto the roof, gazing ahead of himself –looking at John would not help him to do what must be done, to do what is best for his _heart_.

_‘They would be safe. That is all that matters…’_

John lowers his own phone and screams upwards.

  
“No. _SHERLOCK!_ ”

  
Sherlock spreads his arms to either side and falls forward, plummeting towards the ground.

John stares in utter horror. Time slowed down and everything stopped mattering except the man ripping through air as he fell.

  
“Sher...”

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind –that sent dried leaves swirling through the air- followed by utter darkness overtook John before he could do as much as blink. His limp body fell like a marionette cut off of its strings.

As for Sherlock, he didn’t make it to the ground before the wind that had forebode the darkness swept him off his feet claiming him.

He knew no more…

•••

The elder Holmes brother and the sweet pathologist stood side by side ensuring the plans for Sherlock’s fall go without any problem.

Together they watched the younger brother fall, although they knew it to be a charade it didn’t slow their rising heartbeat level nor the tears that gathered in the corner of their eyes (neither easily seen to a third person).

As they observed, slowly but steadily, almost unnoticed darkness claimed them.

°°°

Mrs. Hudson, looked on anxiously, awaiting the arrival of her sweet boys. The way John had looked at her before dashing out left a gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach…

“Oh dear.” She muttered to herself. “I do hope they aren’t in any serious trouble…”

Thinking that perhaps a cup of tea would be just what she needed to calm her racing heart, Mrs. Hudson gathered herself before getting up.

As she made towards her kitchen a sudden light filled her every sense and she soon fell… fell… fell…

°•°

Mary Morstan was just home from a tiring day at work. She set about to make a cup of Earl Grey –her favorite- after she had bathed.

As she was about to add in the tea to the mix, the light coming from the bulb hanging in her kitchen glowed brighter and brighter before she knew no more.

°•°

Sally feeling very proud of herself, was preening and blathering utter nonsense to her audience about how she had _always known_ that the so called Consulting Detective was a fake and such a freak.

Her audience, only consisting of Anderson –as the others simply couldn’t be bothered or knew better than to believe such crap- was silent, so unlike his usual self.

He kept trying to reason with himself that what he had done was right. He kept recalling every moment he had with Sherlock Holmes to reassure himself…

As every second passed, the horror within him began to grow and grow like a monster, eating up his insides.

“But –but what if he wasn’t?”

The question escaped his mouth before he could control himself.

Sally stopped blathering and narrowed her eyes at him.

Anderson swallowed, before deciding to reveal his conflicts to her.

“What is Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a fraud, if what he says is true then –then Moriarty could have easily created Richard Brook!”

Now Sally’s mouth was hanging open in disbelief.

Then she snorted.

“The Freak’s a fraud.” She said. “No one can be that smart.”

Anderson frowned. He had never noticed how offensive she sounded.

_No wonder he hated us…_

“He’s Sherlock Holmes.” He said with a frown. “Not Freak.”

Just as Sally began to reply (not that any were eager to listen to the rubbish she spills out of her mouth) a huge amount of bright fog cascaded upon them and slowly pulled them into the land of Hypnos.

•°•

Lestrade was the last in his team, that had been patched together to search for one Sherlock Holmes.

He did not want to capture the Detective, the man whom he had saved several times from himself, whom he had grown to care for so much.

The man who was so intelligent yet so endearingly ignorant.

The man whom he had risked his job for (several times).

He did not want to arrest the lonely man who had just found happiness…

“Damn it!” He cursed as gripped the steering wheel till his knuckles turned white from the sheer pressure. “Damn _you_ Sherlock! I swear I will kick your arse when you get out of this!”

_When_ , not _if,_ he refused let go of his hope. Sherlock would find one way or another to get out of these mind-numbing situations… He always did.

So, he would be patiently waiting for the time when he got to kick Sherlock’s arse.

Just then, as if he had felt Greg’s hope, a message came.

Lestarde scrambling to press the brakes took the phone into his hands.

Three continuous pings, that meant it was from Sherlock.

His hands trembling, he quickly unlocked the screen and opened the message.

_Goodbye Greg. SH._

“No.” A sob tore itself out of his lips as he understood the implication immediately. “NO! Please no!”

The phone fell from his hands as he stared, eyes empty.

“This isn’t fair!”

He punched the wheel.

And again.

And again. Before collapsing against it breathing heavily.

Something wet and warm was covering his cheeks, Greg noticed in the back of his mind before realizing that they were tears.

“Sher…” His voice broke in the middle before he hung his head remaining slouched against the wheel.

Darkness in the form of smog took him over in the car, yet he did not notice.


End file.
